Planet Mudball
by mdnytryder
Summary: Crashing on an unstable planet, our heroine needs help getting home. Will playing a Good Samaritan to a Predator get her any closer to home or just closer to death?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Predators or Care Bears or any planets named Mudball. I do own Geraldine, the heroine, and Keyla.

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PLANET MUDBALL

Chapter 1

"Earthquake!" I screamed, just to hear myself yell. I scrambled to get out of the ship. It was safer to be outside during these tremors. Slipping and sliding on the muddy terrain, I ran about thirty feet away from the ship's door and braced myself to ride out the quake.

Slag, it wasn't my imagination, the quakes were getting more frequent. Hmm, I think they're getting longer and more violent too. I better start keeping a better account of how long they are lasting. Just in case. The tremors ceased, I estimated it had been about four minutes, even though it seemed like ten. Yep, it was definitely longer than the last one. Not that it would make any difference in my situation.

I'm Geraldine Delilah VanSilver, Dodge for short. I'd been stranded here, on what I dubbed Planet Mudball, for 42 days. Mudball had 18-hour days and, until recently, the quakes had been happening every five days. The last two had been 3 days apart. This might end up being troublesome.

I started to pick up the mess in camp. Primus knows my fellow survivor wouldn't do it. Great, all my pots fell in the dirt.

In between grumbles I yelled, "Keyla! Where are you? Come on back to the ship!"

She had made a habit of disappearing for odd intervals since we wrecked. She could take care of herself, but I still worried. However, right now I had clean up to do.

I indulged myself in a flashback of how I got myself into this hopeless situation. I had been a passenger on a small interstellar shuttle, traveling from one galaxy to another. We apparently ran into a meteor shower that didn't show up on the ship's scans. Man, I'm sooo going to sue someone when I get home. IF I get home. Wait, don't be a pessimist, think happy thoughts. The hell with happy thoughts, I ran out of them when the crewmen died. .

Keyla and I had been extremely lucky. Unlike our pilot, we didn't die in the crash. The other crewman had been seriously injured, and had died after a day. I had done the best I could for him, but it wasn't enough. I wasn't a nurse, I was a bean-counter! Just minding my own business, going from one job to another. Shoulda stayed home.

The distress beacon worked, even if the ship itself did not. We just needed a little more luck to get another ship into the area to pick up the distress signal. But, I won't hold my breath. I'm afraid Keyla and I have used up all our luck just surviving the crash. I'm preparing myself for the bad luck, pirates to pick up the signal, capture me and sell me into slavery. Or, a monster'll just eat me. Sigh.

At least the ship was intact enough to provide shelter. This planet has enough oxygen for us to breathe, even though the air was very humid. Better than being stuck on a tundra planet. We had enough survival supplies to last a year, and some of the flora and fauna on the planet was edible.

So, here I am, down on Planet Mudball, until someone finds and rescues me. I am so screwed.

Keyla breaks into my thoughts.

"Mrowf, yarrowww mrrroww, owwrrr."

"Hey cat." I figured she would be fine and show up eventually, looking none the worse for wear. Cats always land on their feet. She was too smart to get caught in an enclosed space during a quake. Animals always seemed to have a sixth sense about natural disasters. In fact, she usually gave me the heads-up when she was around.

"There you are, how ya doing cat? What's going on?"

Keyla looked agitated, and bounded over to me. She was a hybrid bobcat, bred for hazardous environments and space travel. They are extremely adaptable and exceptionally smart. When they reached maturity, they had a superior understanding of human facial expressions and language. They made excellent companions, as long as they liked you. I always trusted my cat's instincts; somehow she could always tell whom to trust.

It was always up in the air as to who "owned" who in this relationship. Keyla had the typical grey/brown coat with tufted ears and stubby black tail. She stood about 15 inches at the shoulder, was about 24 inches long and weighed 30 lbs. Her eyes are what really stand out. Instead of being yellow like a regular bobcat, they are a very pretty ice blue, with a red ring around the iris. And the usual cat slit pupil. She knew she was pretty, and she had me wrapped around her stubby tail. I always was a crazy cat lady.

Keyla bumped into me, nearly knocking me over, making her cat-talk noises. "Hey, watch it you big, fat cat!" I exclaimed. She bounded back over to the tree line, then ran back to bump me again. She repeated the gesture a couple more times, looking at me over her shoulder, seeming to say, "follow me stupid human." Something had to be up for her to be acting so frantic.

Well, I could always clean up later. It's not like I had a hot date or anything else to do. I better go see what's gotten her tail in a twist. I went into the ship to get my traveling gear and weapon, and then I followed her into the forest.

We made our way through the woods, in a northerly direction. It seemed Keyla was leading me towards those fragging mountain caves. If she weren't so insistent, I wouldn't have gone. Too dangerous, even with my little plasma gun. We usually kept away from the mountain, I think that's where the monsters lived. Well, not monsters, per se, just really, really big bear-like things that I didn't want to mess with. I sarcastically called them Care Bears. They didn't care for me and I didn't care for them. At least they were the only large predators we had come across so far.

Care Bears appeared to be fairly rare, I have only seen two of them so far. One from a distance and one I shot right from the door of the ship a couple days after we crashed. That's how I found out they're edible. Picture an earth wombat, entirely hairless, about six feet long, rust colored, with a white tummy, a long crocodile muzzle filled with a double row of teeth and three-inch talons. That's a Care Bear. Nasty creatures.

Unfortunately, I think another one might have moved into the area near the ship. For the past several days, I've had the feeling of being watched, usually right before sundown. I saw the distant brush move once, but I didn't see anything, even though Keyla was staring at something out there. It was kind of spooky, and I've stuck close to the ship since then.

But, back to the business at hand. I better start paying better attention. Keyla and I have hiked about a mile so far. It's taken us just under an hour, I'm a little slow. The forest ground was just as muddy as the open terrain, and slick with fallen leaves. And now I was keeping a close look out for Care Bears, or whatever it was Keyla was trying to show me. I could see the thinning of the large trees ahead, and we emerged from some dense brush before the foothills.

Pushing my way through a thorn bush (ouch!), I stopped in astonishment. My mouth dropped open. There was someone near the bottom of the hill, about sixty yards away. That certain someone was half trapped under a pile of rocks and dirt. Obviously a recent avalanche from the last quake, there was still dust in the air. More importantly, I wasn't alone any more! Whoo hoo! Maybe there was a rescue ship somewhere and I would be going home!

But, first things first, gotta get him out and let's hope he's not hurt too badly or dead. Morbidly I thought, "if he's dead, I hope I can find his ship to get out of here." Let's not go there Dodge, happy thoughts, remember, happy thoughts. Keyla was nowhere in sight, and I stumbled out of the brush ready to make my way to the injured person.

But, in my excitement, I was careless. I neglected to check for Care Bears. There was a roar off to my right and my heart almost stopped. There it was, about thirty feet away. I think the CB had been making its way over to the victim on the hill, but now I happened to be a closer meal. See, there's the rub. We could eat them, but conversely, they could also eat us.

I spun on my heel, swung my gun around from my back and took off back into the brush, taking one shot over my shoulder. There was a deadfall just inside the tree line I could use as a backdrop while I tried to blow the bear away.

Fear made me more nimble, as I ran to the partly fallen tree and scrambled over. But, there's my bad luck again, I twisted my ankle slightly, and fell right on my back on the other side of the decaying log. The Care Bear was RIGHT over me, and I screamed in rage as I struggled to bring the muzzle up to aim. I thought I was a goner for sure.

The creature suddenly roared, and I saw Keyla raking her claws over its eyes, clinging to its head. Orange blood drops flew all over me (yuck!) and I crab walked back, trying to get some space to take a shot without hitting Keyla. A foreleg swung up and out and Keyla flew off into the air. I hope she landed on her feet and not her head. Here was my chance, I opened fire, the CB's head exploded into orange-spattered bits, drenching me in more yuckiness. The corpse slumped down over the log, its front claws hitting the ground just inches away from my boots.

Keyla came bounding over to me, and tried to push her way onto my chest. I was panting too hard, and couldn't get my breath in the humidity. Thirty pounds of cat on me right now probably would have suffocated me. I cuddled her close, petted her head and murmured comforting sounds, along with my thanks to her for saving my life. That was just too close. Dodge dodged and survived. Ha, I think I'm delirious.

But on the bright side, CB's seem to be solitary beasts, and we were probably safe from another attack until another one moved into this territory. That should be at least a few days. In fact, this might be the one I speculated was by the ship. And we had some meat for our larder. I'll come back and dress it once I've checked on the guy on the hill.

I struggled to my feet, my ankle hurt a bit but I could walk on it. My back was a little sore from landing on my backpack when I fell over the log. Right into a big mud puddle. Figures. And I had blood all down my legs and some splatters on my face. I took a few moments to wipe my face off with my sleeve, no sense scaring my rescuer unnecessarily.

I backtracked to where I had entered the forest, ran into another thorn bush, and carefully stepped out to look around. Keyla was already out, everything looked safe, and I slowly limped my way toward my potential savior.

But, something wasn't quite right. As I got closer, I started to pick out details that made me uncomfortable. By primus, I think it's an alien! What was my first clue?

Maybe the size of the guy? Or the yellowish skin with phosphorescent green blood on the ground? Or the weird mask covering the entire face?

Wow. This is just too fantastic to be real. Of course, I'd heard the rumors about sentient life forms in space, but no one I knew had ever come across any. Could we communicate? Will he be able to help me? Should I help him? Will he hurt me? I think my brain's going to explode with all the questions.

He's buried in rocks from mid thigh down, and I can see some of that bright blood seeping out from under the rocks.

Wow, he is ripped. I really have no idea if the being is male or female, but what I can see of 'his' body looks like a typical human male, so I will presume it is a he. He was lying on his back, head facing downhill - no way he could get out of that rock pile without help.

Anywho, humanoid life form, he's gotta be close to 8 feet tall. Lots of muscles, all over. He's got huge hands, they could cover my whole face easy, and those claws, pretty scary, almost as bad at the CB's. His skin is mottled yellow and black, looks almost reptilian, and he's wearing some sort of webbing over the massive chest, with a bandolier. The only recognizable stuff on it were small animal skulls, a distinctly macabre decoration. He's got small shoulder plates, and gauntlets on each forearm. And some sort of a loincloth that didn't look like cloth, more like beaten metal, kind of like what the gladiators used to wear.

His hair was really weird. If hair was what it was. All I could think of was two feet long rubber dreadlocks. It was spread out all around his head, like a princess's hair displayed over a silk pillow. It was ropy, beaded, grey/black in color, and framed a mask that covered the entire face.

Actually, the mask was kinda cool looking. It looked beat up, and had carved decorations around the jaw line and where the mouth would be. The goggled eyes looked like those reflective sunglasses you still see on macho law enforcement types. There was some symbol carved into the forehead, it looked like a backwards "K."

Ha, I'm gonna call him Killer. Makes me think of that old comic routine from the 1970's, Geraldine and her boyfriend Killer. Haha. I think I'm in shock. I still can't believe I found an alien.

Goggled and inscrutable, the mask revealed nothing except mystery and menace.

I am afraid. I think he's unconscious; it's hard to tell with the mask. But, there hasn't been any movement in the past few minutes that I've been gawking. At least I can see that he's breathing.

I inch closer, and poke his arm with a six-foot branch I picked up.

He made some kind of a quiet purring sound but didn't move. Ooh, that was weird. I poked him again. Nothing. Well, I can help him out of the rocks and check out his legs, but if there's any internal injury, he's out of luck.

Why should I even bother to help? He looks sentient, I guess. If he was some mindless monster I don't think he'd be wearing anything even resembling clothes. My conscience won't let me just leave him, I hope he appreciates it.

What kind of face was he hiding, behind that mask that looked like beaten pewter?

I can't move him now - he's way too big. Hmm, but I can get some tools and stuff from the ship, and I may be able to drag him back. I need to think about this. I'd need to go back for supplies anyway, to bring back the Care Bear steaks.

Ok, Doctor Dodge to the rescue, track record notwithstanding. I can do this. I can do this.

"Don't move Killer, I'll be back soon."

End chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

PLANET MUDBALL

A/N: Sorry this took so long, but between two weeks of company, my own vacation, and problems in an organization I had to take care of, time just slipped away. I have started chapter 3.

Thank you Dwimordene for letting me use the colorful swears.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Predators or Care Bears or any planets named Mudball. Geraldine and Keyla are the products of my own twisted imagination.

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Chapter 2

I booked it out of there, no time to waste. Keyla apparently wanted to stay behind, which is fine with me. I left my backpack there with her, well out of Killer's reach. A lot of the necessities I need are in my pack already; first aid stuff, fire starting tool, water and energy bars, signal flares, short length of rope, pocket knife, plastic bags, string saw, paperback book (I never go anywhere without a book to read).

I moved pretty quickly through the woods, it was easy enough to backtrack our original trail. I generally travel like a water buffalo, noisily and on a wide trail. It only took me about a half an hour to get back to the ship.

Now, I need five minutes to recover and catch my breath. Phew, guess I'm not as in shape as I thought I was. I can't putz too long, daylights a'wasting, it'll be full dark in a little over five hours. That should give me just enough time to get everything done that needs doing. I figure digging dig Killer out shouldn't be too difficult. Less than an hour to set up camp, and maybe two to butcher most of the Care Bear. Yeah, right. I better move faster.

No time to wash up now, but I really need to change my bloody clothes and grab an extra set. Let's see, I need…my butcher knives, sensor stakes for security, more water, foodstuffs, an extra weapon, gloves, portable computer log, pup tent, lean-to tarp, a couple silver emergency blankets…I think that's about it. I'll stuff everything into my big duffle bag and do a quick sweep of the camp.

Allrighty then. Got the duffle on my back, plasma gun over my shoulder, and the small pistol in the back of my waistband. Now, I just need to secure the ship and I'm good to go. Let's roll out.

Déjà vu, I've seen this path before. Pant, pant, pant. Wish the ship was equipped with a small flyer; it would make things so much easier. Ah well, maybe on my next shipwreck I'll plan for better equipment.

It's taking me a bit longer getting back. I can't go as quickly while carrying this stuff. Too bad I don't have a pet horse instead of a pet cat.

Almost there. I can see the Care Bear carcass ahead of me now. Good, still no scavengers yet. Looks like Keyla's kept things quiet.

There's that gap in the woods, just on the other side of the CB. Primus fragging dammit to the slagging pit fires! + Owie! I'm ripping up my arms. That slagging thorn bush has got to go!

I step out cautiously after annihilating the enemy bush, alert for any changes since I left, a little more than an hour ago.

Son-of-a-glitch! Looking ahead, I stare in surprise. Keyla's contentedly lying on Killer's abdomen, giving the mask that famous cat-stare. I can scarcely believe it.

"Keyla, get off of him quick you big lug! You're lucky he's still out of it or you'd probably get a punch in the head."

At the sound of my voice, Killer's mask turns in my direction.

Oh, oh. I spoke too soon. He _is_ awake. I heard a growl (!!), and hissing and clicking sounds. Weird. And, oddly, very intriguing. As I approach, Killer suddenly lifts his right arm, the gauntlet near his wrist clicked, and twin serrated blades, about a foot long shoot out. I jump back with the suddenness of the movement. Boy, that was quick. I guess he's letting me know he's not defenseless, even if he is wounded and stuck in the dirt. Forget the punch to the head, Keyla's lucky she didn't loose her head completely. She had moxie for sure, but I guess he was okay with her cozying up to him. Maybe they had cats wherever he came from. Maybe he was afraid of her. Hahaha. Yeah, and I'm an eight foot alien.

I cautiously step closer, but stop as he raises his blades and utters what sounds like a bark. I drop my bag and shoulder weapon (keeping my pistol at my back a secret), spread my arms out, empty palms up, to show that I was (kind of) unarmed.

"Easy big guy, I just wanna help."

What's that universal greeting I read about once…? Now would be a good time to use it. Oh yeah, "Um. Bah weep uh…graaagnah wheep ni ni bong." Killer cocks his head, growls softly, clicks and lowers his arm, but doesn't retract the blades. Well, this is a little scary. I'm not too keen on getting too close to those nasty things.

But I can see his 'point' in making sure I didn't get any hasty ideas with him being helpless.

Keyla lifts her rump and stretches, causing Killer to grunt. She lightly pokes her claws into his abdomen, and jumps off, slowly making her way over to inspect the duffle. I'm surprised she didn't get poked with his blades in return.

As soon as Keyla's off, the blades retract and he struggles with his arms, sweeping the ground like he can just slip himself out from under the rocks pinning his lower extremities. Ha, good luck with that. Maybe he isn't as smart as I thought. It looks like he's trying to make snow angels. Or dirt angels. Dumb alien.

I wave my hands in the air like a crazy person yelling, "wait, wait! Let me get some of the stuff off you first. You're gonna hurt yourself worse!"

He growls at me again, but desists, probably to see what I am going to do and to give himself a better chance to cut off my head when I wasn't paying attention.

I push Keyla away from the duffle so I can get my leather gloves out. No sense ruining my manicure needlessly. The pole I used to poke Killer with earlier would make a good lever for the larger rocks that I didn't have the strength to actually pick up and toss. I just had to be careful that the rocks didn't roll over his head, since he was lying with his head downhill. Well, let's go for it. No time like the present. The thousand-mile journey starts with one step. Ya snooze, ya loose. When the going gets tough, the tough go to lunch. Wait, that's not right. Lunch is later. Procrastinate much Dodge? Slag, I hope he stays serene when I'm up close trying to get that stuff off him.

As I work, I keep up a running commentary. It is kind of nice to have someone new to talk to, even though I'm sure he doesn't understand anything I say. Actually, who knows? Maybe he has a universal translator somewhere and can understand me. Maybe he's a linguist and he's been spying on me for a while and has picked up the language. Maybe he has met humans before. Maybe monkeys might fly out of my butt. Anywho, I was careful not to say anything that could offend.

"So, hope you don't mind me calling you Killer. My name is Geraldine, but please call me Dodge – we're all friends here. Right? And the rude cat that was using you as a pillow is Keyla. I've been shipwrecked here for a while, about 40 of this planet's days. My ship is about a half hour away from here, in that direction. How about those quakes, huh? I think they're getting more violent and numerous. Is that how you got caught in this little pickle? I hope you're not too hurt, I don't know how much I can help you if you are. That blood you have is pretty cool looking. Does it glow in the dark? It is pretty. We used to have necklaces at carnivals that glowed that color in the dark. But they were banned because of radiation or something. My blood is red, something about because the pigment has iron in it. I think. Is yours based on copper? I always thought green blood would be copper. I don't know about the glowing part. Keyla's is red also, just like all the beings who come from my planet. Which is called Earth, by the way. Some parts of it are similar to this place. I call this planet Mudball. It's not supposed to be complementary. I don't know what its official name is. To us humans, anyway. Where's your home planet and what do you call it? I'm sure it is very nice. What do you call yourself? What do you call this place? Hey, did you see that Care Bear I offed? I think he was going to attack you when you were unprepared, but I'm not sure if you were awake or not. But you probably could have defended yourself just fine with those nifty blades on your wrist. They're pretty cool looking. Maybe you could show me how they work sometime and where I can get a pair. It would be handy to have something like them at some space docks I've been to, you know, where some guys just don't have any sense of personal space and can't take no for an answer. 'Slag off, jerk, or you'll loose more than your pride!' Snick, snick, and their eyes would bug out and then they'd turn tail and run away. Tee hee. That would be funny. How long have you been here? Are there any more of you around? Are they friendly? Do you live here or are you just visiting? Do you have a ship? Maybe you can give me a little help with my ship to get off this stupid planet and back to civilization."

Every once in a while during my babble, Killer would purr or click, or if I shifted a heavy rock, he'd grunt or give a growl. Hopefully it didn't hurt too much.

I use my hands to throw the smaller rocks to the side, out of the way. When I have a nice area clear, I use my poking pole and work on levering the larger rocks. Working slowly and carefully, I continue with my old-fashioned tool, levering rock after rock off Killer.

I am hyper-aware of him scrutinizing my every movement. I hope he isn't just waiting for me to finish and let my guard down so he can run me through. That would be pretty rude after all my hard work getting him out.

As close to him as I was, I notice he smells faintly of cinnamon, kind of spicy and not altogether unpleasant. It reminds me of cookies. Mmmm, cookies… I wonder what he thinks of my stinky human smell. He's not sweating at all, but then, I'm the one doing all the work. But, we both are very dirty.

I'm almost done. Killer's lower half is still imbedded in smaller stones, dirt and gravel, and there's only one pretty large boulder left on his thigh. I'll have to be careful with the lever; I don't want to put any more pressure on him while I push the rock off.

"Okay Killer, this is the last of it, and it'll probably will hurt. Sorry, in advance."

I pop that last rock off in one quick motion, and jump back as Killer throws his head back and lets out a roar that would rival any Care Bear's. Wow. Guess that did hurt quite a bit. "Sorry, sorry! I tried to be careful!"

Eww, his leg is in pretty bad shape. It has a nasty gash that starts bleeding again now the pressure is off. And it's definitely broken, I can see the bone underneath the skin. Thank Primus it didn't come thru, which would have been very, very bad. Septic wounds are definitely not my forte. His right leg has a long, shallow slash on the shin, but it doesn't look too dirty, the bleeding had washed out most of the dirt.

Killer works himself out of the rest of the gravel, hissing the whole time, and positions himself so his legs are pointing downhill. He reachs for some kind of small container, or kit that is attached to his left hip. He presses the side with his talon and it opens with a hiss – the cover separating into three segments. Some silver thing in the middle pops up. It looks like an eight-inch baton with a nasty pointy end.

I inch closer to see what else was in there, and got a low growl for my efforts. I move back but I had enough of a glimpse to see all sorts of small tools that look like torture devices. Boy, he has some awful cool toys.

Killer grabs the silver baton and it came right out. He put the pointy end on one section of the bad gash, and presses something. Eww, it must be like a staple. And it must hurt because he jerks and lets loose a scary, howling scream. But a moment passes, and he moves the baton and staples twice more. I cover my ears. Slag, he's got guts.

When Killer reaches into the container and pulls out other unidentifiable stuff, I just can't watch any more. I am a bit squeamish, and I have a needle phobia that has suddenly expanded to include staples. I would have a hard time treating myself, especially with no pain meds…like whiskey. Lots of whiskey.

So, that's an alien med kit. Pretty impressive. I thought about my pathetic little first aid kit. Once I'm out of here, I am going to get a super heavy-duty deluxe med kit. But with extra pain meds and no staples.

I amble over to my bag to see if there is anything I can use to help fix him up. I dig out a water bottle and take a swig, trying to ignore the sounds of Killer's grunts and groans. My big concern is how we can align the bone, and if Killer will let me help do it without lopping off my head.

I make my way back over to where Killer sits, and I see he has stapled everything up and some white paste stuff is smeared over the deep wounds.

He shakes his head so his dreads swing and rattle, and makes his growling sound. He gestures, a come here motion, and I inch closer to see what he wants.

It took a few tries, but through gestures and pantomimes, I figure out Killer wants me to pull on his leg to align the bone, and he will slap some miracle stuff from his kit around the thigh to immobilize it. Ookay…I can do that.

I settle down in the dirt and brace myself as well as I can. Boy, he has big ugly feet. And I thought my ex-husband's were nasty. I only want to do this once, so I make sure I am set and ready, rubbing extra dirt on my hands so they won't slip when I pull. I grab him right above the ankle. His skin is hot, but not slimy, and he still smells good. Holding the wrappings in his hand, he looks at me and cocks his head. I nod that I am ready. He brought his head forward sharply, and at this gesture, I give a hard pull.

Slag, I thought he was loud before. At this close range, his roar reverberates in my head and nearly blows out my eardrums. But I got the job done. I could feel the bone move into place, and he quickly slaps the dressings on. I am very impressed, considering how that must have hurt.

Killer flops back in the dirt, seemingly exhausted with the ordeal. He is clicking up a storm.

I guess there's not much else I can do for Killer right now. I think I'll let him rest a bit. I can't move him anywhere, so this is going to be our temporary camp.

I pull out the lean-to, setting it up over Killer, but not blocking his view in any direction. I can adjust it later, if needed.

Before I work on the Care Bear, I have to put up the perimeter security alarms. It wouldn't do to be caught out here unprepared. And I'll see if Killer wants any of my food or water. I don't see that he has any supplies with him, unless he lost stuff in the slide. Or, if he didn't have anything, I wonder if that means his ship is close? I can't see any ship, but maybe it's over the hill.

Moving slowly, I bring the duffle under the lean-to and start to unpack some of my supplies. Clicking like a metronome, Killer warily watches me. I guess he's watching me. Who can tell with that mask? He must be feeling okay, since he's sitting up again and looking alert. That miracle dressing stuff looks like it has already hardened. And maybe he did have pain meds in that kit.

Keyla came over to see what I was doing and supervise. She sticks her face into the duffle and I push her head out of the way. "Beat it. There's a whole carcass over there for you to nibble on. This is for us. And where were you when the hard work was being done, huh?" I rub her ears just how she likes it. She made me feel better just being there.

Out come the security stakes, which I put to the side for a few moments. I pull out one of the clear water bottles, hold it up to show Killer, and slowly move to place it on the ground within his reach - opposite the arm with the now-hidden blades. I grab the bottle I already opened, and took a long drink, spilling some over my face and hands to rinse off the grime. I pour some more on a tin plate for Keyla to lap up if she wants.

Next out of the bag come some of the foodstuffs. I arrange a little bit of each on some plastic on the ground. That's the best I can do for a tray. I open everything up so Killer can see what is there. Holding everything up, I describe each item as I place it on the ground within his reach.

"This is dried Care Bear jerky treats. Made 'em myself, and I must say they came out yummy. Needs more salt, though. Here we have three, count 'em, three varieties of energy bars. This one is fruity, this one is kind of spammy – we call that mystery meat. And last but not least, this one tastes like a spicy cookie. In fact, you kind of smell like it. Which is a good thing! Really! These are boiled eggs, not sure from what. They came from the ship stores. These root things kind of taste like bitter carrots, they're okay, I guess. A little too healthy for me to really like. I prefer meat. And this - this is chocolate. I don't have much left, being a chocoholic myself, but you can have some if you want. Have you heard that saying, 'forget love…I'd rather fall in chocolate?' Well, I have a firm conviction that chocolate can solve all the problems in the universe. Um, yeah. Anyway, you can try any of this stuff. Dodge's a la carte' diner is open. Yeah. Well, I've got to secure the camp. Bon appetite."

I struggle to my feet, popping a piece of cookie bar in my mouth and a jerky strip in my pocket.

I pick up the stakes and look around to survey the terrain so as to determine the best spots to place them. They are a handy-dandy survival item to have. Not only would they give an alarm if anything crossed the perimeter, but they also gave a close-to-lethal electric shock. The package said "Guaranteed to knock out a 15,000 lb. organic." I think that means lethal to anything smaller than an elephant. I am reasonably sure it will work on Care Bears here. Reasonably sure is fine with me, considering I don't have a choice.

I make my way carefully up the hillside about 20 feet away.

Should I use 3 stakes for a triangle effect, or 4 for a square? Hmm, decisions or decisions. I opted for 4, since I had enough of them anyway. I knock loose a couple small rocks that roll down and hit Killer in the back, and got a growl in response. Oops. "Sorry big guy."

Next stake in, over that-a-way, and then the last two closer to the trees. Turning them on is easy, just hit the button on the included remote and, voila', instant security. And they turn off the same way.

Okey dokey. I make my way over to Killer. I saw him watching me while I had been putting the security up. Don't know if he knew what I was doing or not. I'm going to have to trust him alone in camp while I take care of the CB. I'm sure he'll understand what I expect of him, the complexity of the med kit shows he's not stupid.

I make sure I have his attention, hold up the remote, and press the button that turns on the juice. There was no sound, but looking closely between the stakes, I can see a slight shimmer in the air. Time for the demonstration. I pick up a good-sized rock, toss it across the invisible line, and gave a girley squeal, as the rock is zapped into sand and a buzzing alarm that sounded like a clock radio went off.

"Frag! That's some bug zapper! Pay attention Killer, you're going to do this next."

I hit the button to turn everything off, walk over toward Killer and hold out the remote for him to take. Killer tilts his head, purrs and just looks at me. I shook the remote in my hand and thrust it in his face, er…mask. He jerks his head back at my invasion of his personal space.

"Here, I have to leave and take care of the Care Bear carcass. This will keep you safe while I'm gone. I'll be just over there in the woods."

Killer gingerly reaches out and plucks the remote from my hand. His talons tickle my palm and gave me the willies. I wave in the general direction of the Care Bear saying, "I'm going over there, turn it on after I'm past the stakes. Okay?"

I hope he understands what I mean; I'd hate to get deep fried after all this. I went to the duffle to grab my knife case, some containers and bags, and lope out past the perimeter of the stakes. Once I was on the outside, I turn around and mime pressing a button. Killer hit the remote and the air shimmered. Mission accomplished.

I walk off towards the woods, Keyla ambling after me, saying over my shoulder, "don't move Killer, I'll be back soon."

0O0O0O0O0O0O

+ Dwimordene, _Bridges_, Fanfiction dot net, 2007, ch. 3.

End chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

PLANET MUDBALL

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Predators or Care Bears or any planets named Mudball. I do own my house, my truck, my motorcycle, my dog, lots of material crap…oh, that's probably not relevant here. I made up Dodge because I love Dodge trucks, and Keyla is based on a Kooza pet I had back in the 70's (she's in the attic now). And if you don't remember Koozas, that means you're probably really young so stop wasting time reading this crap and go do your homework.

A/N Some folks might be put off by the description of butchering. So skip the first section and start reading after second set of 0o0o0o0o breaks. I wanted Dodge to butcher her own kill. And don't tell me its Mary Sue; if I can process a deer by myself in a day, she can. So I just estimated how much could be done in a couple hours. Plus, it would make Killer respect her more…I think. But, who really knows what a Predator thinks?

I am hoping the next chapter will have some action, but I just started it!

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Chapter 3

I left Killer at the makeshift camp with a clear conscience. I think we shall all get along just fine, as long as he continues to follow my instructions. We'll see how long that lasts. If his psyche is anything like a typical human male, it won't be for long.

I don't have much time before dark to get the Care Bear cut up. I usually like to let fresh game hang a few days to age, but it's impossible in this weather. Besides, I just don't have time.

Keyla strode beside me as I entered the woods, but left to explore the area once I got close to the beast. Waving some bugs away, I take a look at the carcass to decide on a game plan. Unfortunately, my shot pulverized the whole head. Bummer, no teeth for my up-and-coming trophy collection. But, the talons are in good shape. At least I have the teeth from my first kill. Too bad Care Bears don't have fur; I would have loved a maroon coat.

The limbs are getting stiff, so I have to work fast. I hate the fact that this is a rush job, it's such a waste of food. But, with night closing in, I don't want to be out of the secure area when the scavengers finally show up. They're small, but if they come in numbers I think they can really do a job on you. I certainly don't want to find out.

I attach a rope to one of the front legs, drawing it around a nearby tree to get some leverage to flip the Care Bear. It's not too hard to get him over, as it mostly just rolls off the log onto its back.

I'm a deer hunter from way back, and I've minimized my butchering tools to just a few basics – a few sharp knives, a wet stone to keep them sharp and a stringsaw. I'd prefer a hacksaw, but I couldn't find any on the ship, so I had to improvise. Oh, yeah, and rubber gloves, because I am a wussie. Actually, I prefer to use gloves because I don't want any germs getting in any cuts on my hands. Just what I don't need right now, some alien flu bugs knocking me out for weeks.

First, I saw off the ends of the paws and toss them onto the tarp. I can pull the claws out later. I grab my rubber bungies and attach one loop to the stumps of the paws on one side, and the other loop to a nearby tree. This'll keep the legs out of the way while I'm working.

It's been a while since I've done my own butchering, but all animals are basically the same and you don't forget something like this. Like riding your first bike, doing your first solo audit, or flying your first ship. It's one of those milestones of life, I think.

Starting under the neck, I carefully insert my smaller knife just under the skin, and slowly cut down the chest, over the belly and close to the tail. I am extra careful to avoid perforating the bowel, which is what I did last time. That was a nasty piece of business. I thought Earth animals stunk. Phewie, deer had nothing on Care Bears! Live and learn.

At least I know where the innards are now. Remember, breathe through the mouth.

When you gut an animal, there is a certain smell that seems to be universal. It's not really revolting, unless you puncture the actual guts like an amateur. (I mentally slap myself on the head.)

It brings to mind dank, moldy cellars that smell of decaying papers. Moist, heavy air in a steam room that hasn't been cleaned in months. The smell of blood, a tangy, metallic aftertaste at the back of your throat when you do take a proper breath.

I go over the cut again, just a little deeper, to get through the abdominal muscle and open up the stomach cavity. A puff of fetid, moist air that is like the escaping of the soul. And, basically, isn't this what all of us are reduced to? A jumble of putrid guts and decaying matter? Just the color is different. In a black and white world, cut us open and we all look basically the same. How depressing.

I really want the tenderloins, otherwise I wouldn't even bother to dump the guts. I had a friend that swore fresh liver was food of the gods. I don't think so. No way was I ever going to eat an organ that filtered waste from the blood. Eww, eww, eww. I don't think I'll ever be that hungry.

I quickly pull the guts out, pointedly ignoring the liver, musing on my old pal, wondering where he was now.

Keyla saunters up behind me unseen, and when I'm off balance, she nudges my butt and I fall elbow deep into the gut pile.

"AAAHH! Primus fraggit you stupid cat!" I know she did that on purpose. I just don't get cat humor. Now I've got orange blood on the front of my formerly clean shirt. "Look what you've made me do! This shirt is supposed to last 'til tomorrow! Get out, I'm busy. Get out, get out! You'll eat later, like the rest of us." Good thing I didn't land on my face, I'd have puked for sure. Bad enough I have to change into my last clean shirt once I get back to camp. Sometimes she really frags me off.

Keyla took offense at my yelling at her and gave me the cat cold shoulder, turned her back and stalked off back towards camp. Good riddance to bad rubbish. All I saw was cat butt and I yelled, "Don't bother Killer. And remember the force field's on!" Serve her right if she got zapped. Well, not really, but she did fritz me off. I'm trying to work here.

The loins are deep in the cavity, right against either side of the spinal cord. Slowly and carefully, I made use of my smaller knife, using the bone as a guide. It's really more a matter of scraping the meat off the bone. There, I've got a nice set of twelve-inch tenderloins, yum, yum. They're the best fresh off the beast, as they say. I'm going to cook them up for supper. I guess I can sacrifice and share with Killer, if he wants some. Maybe he's a vegetarian, and then I won't have to share at all! That would be great!

I prepare to attack the hindquarters, where I can get the most meat for the least amount of effort. Since there's no hair to worry about, I'm just going to cut the whole rump off. I can chop it up once I'm back in camp. Generally, I would take the skin off before cutting the meat, otherwise you get hair mixed in. There's nothing worse than hair in your food. Well, cold feet are pretty nasty…and chapped lips…and overcooked meat…and rude people…and war…and…and lots of other things I can't think of right now. Enough Dodge, pay attention, I don't need to cut myself here.

Moving the leg a bit to see where the joint connects, I take my larger knife and slice deep into the meat near the hip joint all the way to the bone, then cut through above the knee. Then I thread my stringsaw between the cut and saw through the bone. Repeat above the knee. Pretty mindless work. I wonder what Killer is up to.

What am I going to do with him? How long does a broken leg take to heal anyway? I'm guessing at least a few months. Once more I regret not listening to my parental unit and taking up medicine as a career. But, noooo…, I wanted the fame and glory of big corporate audits.

One hind done, I repeat the process on the other leg, trying to keep from sweating all over the meat. I'll add salt later when it's cooked, thank you very much.

I wonder if he ate anything that I left. Don't know what I'm gonna feed him if he eats something really weird, like, like…liver! Maybe I should get some of those organs, just in case. No, I just can't bring myself to do that. He should have some of his own food around, in his ship maybe. Where the pit is his ship anyway? You'd think I'd have heard it coming in if he got here after I crashed. Oh, maybe he was here before me…and he's awaiting a rescue too. Well, that would just be the cat's meow. He's probably thinking I'm going to help him, slag it. I can barely take care of myself. How am I going to take care of him?

Well, the rump's done, the last pieces of meat I want are the back-straps, sometimes called chops or loins. They run down both sides of the outer spine. To me, the second choicest cut on an animal. Which means I have to flip the beast over. It's getting harder to see under the trees. Hurry, hurry, I still have to cart this stuff back to camp and get some wood for a fire before full dark.

I loosen all the bungies, grab one of the ropes, and basically reverse my earlier work when I first moved the Care Bear onto its back. Whoo, this thing is really heavy. Wish Killer wasn't out of commission, I can really use a strong back to help flip this thing over. Plus, it's easier to butcher when it's hanging up. I just don't have the brute strength to hang it, so I've gotta use brain power. Basically I pull one rope, clamp it, switch to another rope, clamp, and repeat until the CB is on its belly.

Inserting my larger knife into the beasts' back near the rump, right next to the spinal ridge, I run the blade along the spine, from back to front. I reinsert the blade to deepen the cut, and slowly work around the outside spine to the top of the ribs. This loosens the chops, and I cut both ends and bring it out in one long piece. Yum. I put them on the side with the other pile of meat. Done. Okay, lets wrap this up, get back to camp, bring in some wood and eat. I'm starving.

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Lurching out of the woods, I drag my tarp full of meat behind, not really paying attention to anything but putting one foot in front of the other. I'm beat. And I still have to bring in wood for a fire. Halfway between the woods and the security perimeter, I almost walk right over Keyla. She's sitting like a statue of Bast, facing the camp. Just looking. I glance up to see what she's focused on and…there's no Killer!

What the…! He's gone! I drop the load and sprint closer, stopping just short of the zapper. I can see the remote on the ground with all the supplies that I left, but, Killer is gone.

I turn around in a circle, hoping to see some evidence of him crawling away or something. How can he move in the state he's in? Did something breach the electronic security, or did he turn them off? Why the slag would he do that? Stupid, stupid alien. No, the remote's still inside, what the pit is going on here? Maybe he'll hear me if I yell, "Hellooo, Killer! Hey, where are you?"

Keyla bumps me, and draws my attention back to the camp. Wait, what's that shimmer, there under the tarp. It looks like heat waves on asphalt. The shine flickers a few times, and resolves into a figure – Killer sitting calm as can be, head tilted, staring at me like I was a strange bug on a pin. I've seen Keyla look at me the same condescending way.

Primus on a pogo stick! He was invisible – wasn't he? I close my gaping mouth, making unintelligible sounds. How did he do that? Maybe I'm just really tired and hallucinating. Killer reaches for the remote, hits the button and the security field fades.

"Awesome! Slag it, Killer, how'd you disappear like that?" I rush over to him. Why am I so relieved he's still here? But, slaggers, his toys…awesome doesn't cover it. How can technology do stuff like that?

But, I sober quickly. That's pretty high-tech stuff for a guy who's got skulls hanging on his chest. What kind of a culture does he belong to, anyway? Maybe I should be a little more afraid of him. Bad enough he's got those blades, what other fancy weapons does he have, and will he use them on me? Get a hold of yourself, maybe he can smell fear like dogs can. But, I'm not really afraid, just cautious.

Keyla strolls over, winds herself around my legs, then heads over towards Killer. "Umm, Keyla, maybe you better not bother…."

Too late, Killer watches her approach, and she goes behind him and strokes her body along his back, once twice, and then climbs onto his lap, purring loudly. Killer purrs right back, and he lifts his hand, pats her on the head, then gently pushes her off. Well, that's kind of reassuring, he didn't fling her across the camp. Keyla settled down on the ground next to him, and stared at me. In fact, they both stared at me.

"What? Well… yeah, I've got stuff to do, both of you behave yourself."

Leaving the meat where it dropped, I got another tarp out of the duffle. I still have to get some wood before it gets so dark that I can't see. It's easy enough, there's quite a bit of windfall all over, and I don't even have to cut anything. I worked quickly, pondering the contradiction posed by Killer's appearance versus his tools. Primitive visage versus high technology. Maybe he's in costume. Yeah, that's it. He's on vacation, getting away from all the hustle and bustle of his boring desk job, and part of the vacation package includes a native costume so you can really see how the other side lives. He left the wife and kids at home to experience 'the primitive life'. Sounds good to me. What other explanation could there be? No way can he be just as he appears. There's gotta be more to it.

I can't wait to see his ship. That'll tell me a lot. If he's got one…how else did he get here? Which brings back to mind the question if he will help me get off this mudball. Actually, it would be fantastic if I could see his home planet. What are the chances of that? Probably the same as me being crowned "Queen of the Galaxy." Zip-ola to none.

And with that last, disheartening thought, I am back at camp. Dump the wood, change into my last clean shirt, and let's get supper started.

I scrape out a shallow fire pit about five feet away from Killer and Keyla, and pile some rocks around the edge. Under the peanut gallery's watchful eyes, I use my handy dandy, magnesium fire-starting tool. This has got to be one of the best survival tools ever made. Scrape a small pile of magnesium shavings from the block, flip the block over to the sparking edge, and scrape with a knife to generate sparks, which cause the magnesium to ignite. Voila! Fire. Yes, I am superior to all beasts, I am woman, hear me roar.

I look over at the food samples I had left for Killer earlier to assess what, if anything, is gone. Hmm, all the eggs and the Care Bear jerky. Guess there goes my hope of him being a vegan. And, surprisingly, the chocolate is gone. I guess Killer understands the healing power of chocolate. I'm sure he'll be walking again in days. Haha. I wish.

I work on cutting the tenderloin into manageable pieces, trying to ignore Keyla's insistent head nudging my arm. I've already got a small pile of raw meat on a plastic cover, and I start to put chunks on small sticks so they can cook over the fire. I attempt to make polite, before dinner conversation with my silent companions while I work, and I place some meat on the side for Keyla.

"Keyla, here ya go, fresh Care Bear, yum, yum. Get 'em while they're dripping!"

I pause in my cutting and look up at Killer, gesturing in his direction with my hand full of raw meat, still yapping.

"Well, Killer, how do you like your steak, well done, medium, or rare? Since cat's got your tongue tonight, get it, cat, Keyla…never mind, just trying to make a joke. Sorry, I left the wine at the ship. But, there's plenty of water. I see you enjoyed some of the appetizers I left. Wait 'til you have some of this loin, it'll melt in your mouth."

Killer looks right at me and tilts his head to the right, and makes that clicking, growl sound, as if asking me, "What the pit are you babbling about?" He reaches up to the left side of the mask, and disconnects one of the cables. Air hisses out. What is he doing? He grabs two more air lines on the other side. He's taking the mask off – I'm finally going to see what he looks like!

I watch, almost hypnotized, as his clawed hands reach up, fingers spread to cover the whole front of the mask. His thumbs hook to the edge, and with a whooshing sound, the mask pulls free. He lowers it to chest level, shakes his head so his hair rattles, and startles me with a roar. I jump in my seat, dropping the meat in my hand on the ground, eyes practically falling out of my head.

"Sweet Primus' hamsters! You're one, ugly, moth…." Oops, I slap my bloody hand over my big mouth (yuck) and cut that thought right off. Remember, you don't know if he understands English. No wonder he keeps the mask on!

I don't know what, exactly, I expect to see, but it's not this! The first thought that pops into my head is 'crab.' Wonder if he tastes like one? Where in the pit did that come from? I am so twisted.

I imagined the mask might have been covering a horrible deformity, thanks to my overactive imagination. But, he isn't deformed, just hideous. I think the word I really want is grotesque. Well, to my human aesthetics anyway. I'm sure to his own species he's a handsome hunk 'o whatever he is. If "he" actually is a "he"….

Dominating his face are four mandibles, tipped with good-sized tusks, about three inches long. They're got symbols and cursive script carved on them, and they move independently from one another. The top tusks rapidly strike against the bottom pair, which makes that clicking sound, and he growls at me. Sharp, pointy teeth and two sizable canines frame his round, maw of a mouth. Oh, yeah. He's a carnivore for sure.

He haughtily stares at me with deep-set, yellow eyes, animal-like, but glinting with intelligence. As if a crocodile had the capacity for rational thought. Daring me to run away screaming.

His skin is wrinkled and scarred, and I see no obvious nose. There is an old and prominent scar, smack-dab in the center of his creamy yellow forehead - that same backwards K symbol he's got on his mask.

His forehead looks almost like a shell, reinforcing the crab aspect, and slopes upward to the back of his head, ending in upraised, black spikes about an inch long, where the ropey, hair-like dreads start.

If I had to guess, I would say this guy is old. Old and the stuff of nightmares.

"Um, pleased to meetcha." I smile, not showing any teeth. I've read that showing teeth can be interpreted as aggression. I wonder, what was he indicating to me when he roared with wide-open mouth and spread mandibles? Sure buddy, you 'da boss, you'll get no argument from me. As long as he wasn't thinking about Dodge as the other white meat.

He growls in return, gives a short bark, and waves his hand in a gimme gesture. He wants the meat pile. I get up off my seat and hand him a pan.

I stare at him out of the corner of my eye as he picks up chunks of raw steak, shreds them, and deposits them into his lipless mouth. Miss Manners needs to teach him some table manners.

As he eats, I pick up the dropped bits, tossing them to Keyla, and grab a couple of my shish kabobs sticks from the fire, babbling pathetically to cover my nervousness.

"So, what do you do for a living? We have a bet in the secretary's pool that you're an account executive at an advertising agency. And what's with the mask, anyway? Is it an accessory? Or does it serve some purpose other than hiding your…face."

Killer just clicks at me, as he consumes a good two pounds of raw meat. I lapse into silence and pick at my share, cooked nicely medium rare. Half an hour drags by, feeling like two hours in a dental chair.

It is full dark now, and we can hear the music of the smaller scavengers fighting over the Care Bear scraps in the distance. Keyla is already snoring softly on the corner of my blanket. That's why I always carry two; she's such a glitching blanket hog.

I watch Killer as he put the mask back on, and fiddles with his miracle med kit. I am exhausted, and can't stay awake any longer.

Rolling myself up into my second silver blanket, I grind my butt into the ground to make a nice little hollow. If I concentrate, I can hear a low hum from the security fence. I glance over at Killer on the other side of the fire pit. The firelight reflects blood-red flames over the reflecting surface of his mask. He's still as a statue, staring into the night, thinking alien thoughts. It's an eerie sight, and if I wasn't so tired, I might think it was an omen of sorts.

"G'night Killer. Please don't kill me while I'm asleep, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0


	4. Chapter 4

PLANET MUDBALL

**Disclaimer:**

If I were Queen of the Galaxy, I would own everything. But, I'm not and I don't.

See if you recognize a couple lines from the song _Manic Monday_. Written by Prince (formerly known as some weird symbol, formerly known as Prince) in 1984, and sung by The Bangles in 1986.

And Colonel John "Hannible" Smith's famous line from the A-Team. I also make references to Star Trek, Ace Ventura, Transformers, Star Wars, Saturday Night Live and, obviously, Care Bears.

A/N: Sorry I'm such a slooooww writer. I had a bit of writer's block, I knew what I wanted, but just couldn't get it out of my brain into my fingers.

ADL's - activities of daily living.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Chapter 4

The previous days had been incredibly rough. Rough and exhausting. I had to practically kill people to get this vacation time. It's a beautiful fall morning, brisk and clear. I was kissin' Valentino beside a crystal blue Italian stream. He was growling sweet nothings in my ear, and feeding me cinnamon cookies. Mmm, this is promising. The furs on the bed are warm and purr vibrations into my body. He tells me in his bedroom voice, c'mon honey, let's go make some noise.

The bed starts to vibrate, and Valentino begins to fade, to elongate and stretch, he's being pulled down a wormhole, arms extended, yelling at me to toss him the pudding. Aargh, why do all my relationships end with the men running away with my pudding? Well, to the pit with him, I'm keeping the pudding. It's chocolate and I need it.

The shaking got worse and someone is pushing on my shoulder. I curl up into a ball, hug my furry pillow, and wish my parental unit would leave me alone. "Five more minutes, Ma, five minutes," I mumble, and pull my blanket over my head. I try to salvage the tingly feeling that is rapidly fading away. Hey, wait a minute, _growling_? Is that my stomach? I am kind of hungry after smelling those cookies. Cookies? What cookies? Maybe I should get up….

A louder growl in my right ear and a hissing yowl from the bundle clutched in my arms jerks me fully awake, dream dissipating into a fog as I flail in panic. My hand hit something hard with a clang. "Owie! What the pit?!" Keyla kicks at my gut to get out from under covers.

I look up right into reflective bug eyes, and yelp in surprise. Killer looms over me, leaning on one arm, head cocked. I can feel his growls vibrate deep in my bones.

The ground is shaking and I try to wrap my sluggish brain around the fact that I'm not dreaming anymore. I'm lying on the ground, getting smushed by an alien who, in turn, is getting pelted with small stones that are making musical thumps on his helmet. I don't know if I can dream anything weirder.

Earthquake! Slag, why are there rocks hitting us? The security fence must be off or broken. Keyla and I huddle under Killer's massive chest, letting him take the minor abuse. I guess he must be feeling protective. Rather gentlemanly of him to shelter us from the rocks. Fine with me, I'm not proud. No wonder I'm thinking of food, he smells yummy.

What a wonderful start to day three in our camp on the hill, also known as Camp More-Than-Meets-The-Eye. It may look uninhabited, but that's only because Killer went and turned himself invisible. I still envy his fancy toys, and I'm trying to figure out how I can con some from him. But, that's a problem for another time.

Three minutes and the tremors cease. We're lucky that all of the big stones had already fallen on Killer when I first found him. Well, maybe Killer wasn't lucky, but I know what I mean. Killer grunts and surprises me by using my levering-rocks-off-Killer-pole to heave himself off the ground.

"Hey," I yell, "What are you doing, trying to walk around? In case you didn't notice, your leg's still in two pieces! You can't walk yet!" I find myself talking to his back as he proves me wrong, limping to his spot on the other side of the fire pit. He slowly eases himself back down. What am I going to do with him? Typical male, won't listen to advice. He probably doesn't listen to his wife either. I wonder how much he's healed already. I'm impressed. Who knows how his physiology works? Maybe it's his miracle med kit. Wonder if I can bottle and sell whatever it is? Nah, I'm sure it's the chocolate. Well, he's certainly doing better than any human would with the same injuries.

If he can move, that's a good enough reason for us to leave this area. There have been numerous tremors each day we've been here, and this quake today bodes no good, no good at all. It's not safe to stay here anymore. Plus it's too open. I'd rather be back at my ship anyway. Well, I'm awake now. I push Keyla away so I can drag my carcass out of bed.

Here we go, the beginning of another day babysitting an alien life form. Though, to be fair, Killer has been a model patient. I suspect that he's been walking around, probably while I'm sleeping. Wonder how he managed to navigate the supplies and stuff in camp without tripping or kicking something over. He must be able to see in the dark. Or, he's got night vision goggles in his back pocket. Wish I had thought to bring a pair of those with me…could have been very helpful. I'll have to put them on my Supplies-To-Have-When-Marooned-On-A-Planet list. Yeah, that's one list that keeps getting longer and longer. Maybe I should start a 100-Reasons-To-Stay-Home-Forever list. That would probably be more helpful in allowing me to live to live to a ripe old age. Hmm, I wonder how old Killer is. Gives me something to ponder while I do my ADL's.

Coming back from the edge of the woods a short while later, I have a plan.

One, fix the security fence. Even if we're gonna leave, no sense taking chances 'til we actually go. I took a quick look-see earlier, and I only have to fix one spike. It got pushed over by a larger sized rock during the quake. No sweat.

Deux, make a sturdier crutch or hiking stick for Killer. Obviously he can move around with a bit of support and it should make it easier for him to travel. Hopefully to my ship, since I don't know if he's even got a ship, or where it would be. And Killer certainly doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get back to it. So we go to mine. The only obstacle I see is if he doesn't understand what I want him to do, or if he just doesn't want to go.

Okay, last but not least, number three, pack up camp and head out. Yes, that's the goal, sleeping in my own bunk on my ship tonight. I wonder if I can get Killer to carry most of the supplies…?

I look toward Killer's spot, and notice something is different. Hey, what's that stuff on his back? Looks like a pack, or more equipment or something on his shoulders. Where did that come from? I swear he didn't have that yesterday, and it wasn't in camp. What's he got, a subspace pocket or something? I'm gonna have to keep a better eye on him. Dang, he's probably not gonna carry anything else for me, now.

Guess I better get started or we'll be stuck here for another day.

I fix the fence, which takes longer than I estimated. Partly because the stake got bent, and partly because Keyla's bothering me the whole time. I guess she couldn't get any affection from Killer. I go to my pack to grab some gear so I can start on the crutch, and I hear a humming sound behind me. Looking around, I see Killer with my Care Bear paws! What the pit is he doing? Craning my neck, I could see that he had pulled the talons out. Right now he is using something that looks like tweezers to hold a talon in his right hand, while his left hand held some sort of laser tool that is searing the meat scraps off the nail and shining them up.

I swear at him under my breath. "Fragger, thievin' pit spawn, sonofa…." The nerve! After all I've done for him, too. That he would steal MY trophies. Actually I feel a little hurt. Sigh. On Planet Mudball, possession is law. Especially if you're eight feet tall and weigh as much as…as...well, weigh a lot. Slaggit. Note to self: hide future trophies from Killer.

Grumbling, I find my stringsaw and head out to find crutch material, Keyla still sauntering behind me. Let him have the stupid talons.

A short time later, I'm in a much better mood. I magnanimously decide to forgive Killer for taking my trophies. The thief in question is messing with his med kit. Lying next to him is his new, freshly made, patent-pending crutch. Or walking stick. Or whatever. It turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. After a quick parody from me, he understood right away what it was for. He's pretty good at charades. I bet he's a real party animal when he 's out with the guys.

I still have to explain to him that I want to leave. I think a drawing will help me get my point across, so I dig out a small notebook and writing utensil and gingerly settle myself down next to Killer. He is now working on drilling small holes through the ends of the talons with his lazer. Interesting. Keyla plops down on his other side. He ignores me, glances at Keyla and pats her head. She purrs loudly and happily. I see where I rate. I clear my throat to try to get him to look at me.

"Okay Killer, please pay attention. I want to leave this place." As I talk, I make sketches on the paper to represent the mountains, woods, and my ship's area. I put two stick figures on the mountainside, one noticeably larger than the other, and then add a four-legged figure. Pathetic. My niece in kindergarten can do better. Ah well, to paraphrase my favorite space doctor, "I'm a bean-counter, not an artist!"

Tapping the mountain area on the paper, I continue. "Here…is a map, of where we are." I again tap the figure to represent me, and point at my chest. "This is me…this is you," I point at the large figure and then at Killer, "and that is Keyla." Another tap. "Got it so far?"

"Grunt."

"My ship is here," I draw a crude picture of my ship on the ground. "And I would like to go back to my ship, and take you along." I draw the stick figures at the ship, use my two fingers to pantomime walking, and trace a line from the mountainside through the woods, to the clearing. I draw some rocks falling down the hill onto the stick figures.

"It's too dangerous here. Are you getting what I'm telling you? I am going to finish packing up and then we should all leave."

I point at the ship picture and then at Killer. "Do you have a ship?" I tap the paper. "Ship, where is it?"

He cocks his head and growls. What is that supposed to mean - yes, no, or shut up stupid, stop bothering me? I am beginning to despair that I might have to leave him, but no way was I staying on this hill for another day.

Killer stretches out his hand and points at the drawing. He set his talon down on the mountainside, taps the three figures, and traces a line through the woods that ends at the ship. He again taps three times and rumbled within his throat. Ooh, that's a new sound. Did that mean he understood what I wanted? Only one way to find out. Finish packing and see if he comes along.

"Alrightythen. The sooner we pack up, the sooner we can go."

I take my sketch, get up and move off to start striking down the camp.

Later, I stuff the last of the supplies into my bags. There isn't that much to pack, as I didn't bring much. Just the security stakes are left to pick up. Killer's messing around with a pile of stuff I hadn't seen before. If I didn't know better, I'd swear his ship is nearby and he's laughing at me that I can't see it. Wait a minute, maybe his ship is invisible! No wonder I can't see it! No, no, that's impossible. Maybe it's disguised as this mountain, and we're walking on the top of it. Yeah, right. Talk about science fiction. Dodge, get your head out of your aft.

Looks like we're all set. We've still got most of the day left, plenty of time to get back to the ship without rushing. Let's see if Killer is ready and willing to go. I walk over and stand right in front of him.

He ignores me, as usual. Said practice is starting to annoy me.

"Hey, Killer, I am ready to go, are you coming or not? I'm going to take down the security fence." I turn and call Keyla to follow me, to give Killer some time alone. She's been bothering him the whole time I was packing. I just can't figure out what she finds so fascinating about him. And I find it hard to believe that he doesn't mind her hanging so close. I guess there's no accounting for tastes, alien or feline.

Okey dokey. Fence is down and packed. Nothing is left in camp except some depressions in the dirt. Killer is standing, pack or whatever it is on his back, leaning slightly on his new crutch. He watches me double check the area. Keyla's already halfway towards the wood line. I've got my gun across my back, along with my backpack, and I am going to drag my duffle behind me. I just can't carry both.

"Alright people…uh, I mean, everyone, let's roll out."

I walk by Killer, and as I pass, he catches at my arm. I start, he has never voluntarily touched me before and he does scare me a little. Very slowly he reaches his closed fist toward me, like he's got something in it. I glance up at him suspiciously, "What?"

He gives a chitter and a purr and shakes his fist, pretty much conveying the demand that I take what is in his hand. I'm going to be very pissed if it is something slimy or gross. I tentatively hold out my hand and he drops something white and gold that spills over my palm. At first I thought it was a snake. "Whoa," my mouth gapes as I recognize the Care Bear talons that he had been working on. They've been cleaned and polished and threaded on what looks like a gold chain to make a fantastic-looking necklace. The large canines even have tiny marks carved into them. It looks both primitive and expensive and totally breathtaking.

"What? Is this for me?" I drop the duffle so I can paw over the necklace with both hands. "It's fantastic! And here I thought you were just stealing…I mean, um…I was…wonderingwhatyouweredoingwiththetalons." I sputter in embarrassment, trying to cover up my faux pas, vowing never to take first impressions to heart again.

Killer clicks and shakes his head, reaches for my discarded pack and swings it over his one shoulder. He starts to follow Keyla towards the woods, limping only slightly. Then he winks into invisibility. It briefly startles me, but I slip the necklace over my head and tuck it under my shirt, feeling very cheerful. I love it when a plan comes together.

"Hey, wait up! I'm supposed to be leading this expedition, not you guys!" I guess I just have to assume that Killer is going with us, since I can't see him. Stupid alien, I grumble to myself. But that was really nice to make me the necklace. I hope we're not engaged or anything, just because I accepted it. Ha, wouldn't that be funny. Well, maybe not that funny. Guess I couldn't do any worse. I'm figuring it's a good thing that the Care Bear skull was destroyed, or he might have made me wear that on my chest. Or on my head. I giggle to myself as I envision that image of horror, and dash off to catch up with my compadres.

We start out slowly, there's no reason to rush to get back. We aren't half a planet away from the ship anyway. I just want to make it sometime before dark. It feels great to be on the move. I can tell Keyla is ecstatic, foraging ahead, stalking prey, both real and imaginary. I keep a sharp lookout, but the woods are pretty quiet. Almost un-naturally quiet. I attribute it to Keyla running around scaring everything away and my usual water buffalo elegance in the woods.

I'm quiet for a change, even though I really feel like yapping at Killer. Wherever he is. I'm sure he's nearby. So I concentrate on the terrain. Anyway, with Killer being invisible, I'd look like a lunatic talking to the voices in my head.

There are lots of changes due to all the shaking that had been occurring the last few days. Fallen trees, sink holes and even a couple spots where underground springs had erupted and made the surrounding area swampy. Yeah, this is a great vacation. Hot, muggy, and wet. Here's a huge tree to climb over. Keyla has hopped over it three times already, impatient for me to catch up. I have to be careful, I don't need to fall in the mud. And as soon as I think of falling, I do. My hand slips off the trunk and my right side hits the ground. Great, now I'm muddy from the hip down. And my boot is stuck. What are the odds? I must have the worst luck in this galaxy. And we've only trudged halfway.

I drop my pack and work my foot out. Ug. I need a break anyway. I'm glad I didn't do a facer. I take a water bottle and try to clean up a bit. I'm relaxing on the trunk and taking a drink when Killer appears in front of me. Water goes up my nose, and I spit all over myself. "Don't DO that!" Now I'm really torqued off. Killer put his hands on his hips and chittered. And he stands there staring at me. I wipe my face, blow my nose and take another drink. And he is still standing there. "Oh, alright, alright, I'm moving."

Grumbling, I stomp along, I can feel mud down my boot now. Great. I can't wait to see what happens to me next.

We've been on the trail for about an hour, and I start to recognize specific landmarks that let me know we are getting close to the ship. Finally, thank Primus. I need a bath.

I think Killer is getting impatient also. He's been visible since I had stopped for a break, and whenever I slow up, he growls and gives me a little push. It is starting to perturb me immensely. After the fifth or seventh push, I round on Killer snarling, "Quit it. I'm leading and we'll go at my pace. I'm tired and dirty and I don't wanna fall again."

He tilts his head to the left and I hear a distorted version of my voice, like a long distance ship-to-ship connection, come from the mask. "Quit it."

"What! Hey, what is that? You can TALK! You CAN talk! And you're just saying something now, after three days together! You slagger."

"You can talk."

"Quit copying me."

"Quit it."

"I mean it Killer. Cut it out."

"Cut it out."

"Ahh, you're gonna drive me crazy! Can't you say anything original?"

"…Dodge."

"Well…okay then."

"Let's roll out."

I make a disgusted sound under my breath and he responds with a clattering, trilling sound. I'll bet credits he's laughing at me. I pout and keep quiet, but at least he isn't mimicking me anymore. I hate that. So in revenge, I slow my pace even more. I am so petty. That doesn't work too well, because I find myself suddenly picked up and tucked under Killer's arm, pack and all.

"Killer, put me down! Killerrrr! Right now! Come on you slagger, I'm sorry, I'll pick up the pace, I swear, I'll…pleeeze put me down." Kicking and wiggling didn't do any good, and he is squeezing me tightly. "Ah, do you want me to spew? 'Cause I'm gonna if you don't stop squishing me!" His grip loosened when I stopped kicking and wiggling. I might as well enjoy the ride. We are almost within sight distance of the ship anyway. A thought suddenly struck me.

"Hey, how do you know where you're going? Have you been here before?" A little louder and panicky, "Have you been spying on me? I bet that was you who was lurking around, making me think there were monsters in the woods, and scaring me…." Keyla interrupted my tirade by suddenly appearing in our path, blocking Killer from going any further. She erupts into a series of yowls and spitting, and scratches at the ground. She's really wound up. I tense, wondering if there was a Care Bear nearby. No, she wouldn't be standing in the center of the path if there were. Too open, she'd probably be running for shelter.

Killer drops me with no warning. I land on my backpack, getting the wind knocked out of me. I sputter, try to catch my breath. "Yeow, hey, what was that, what was that? How about a little respect for the puny human, huh!"

Killer stares at Keyla, it looks like he understands exactly what she is saying. She's certainly kicking up a fuss. I don't see what the problem is, and besides, I'm tired and the ship is almost in sight. "Well, if it's unsafe, we'll be better off at the ship, you stupid cat." I struggle up and move around her to continue.

Keyla darts in front of me and tries to bring me to a halt, but I'm not having any of it. Home and chocolate were in sight and nothing is going to stop me. Well, maybe a Care Bear, but not an overgrown kitten. "Out. Of. My. Way."

Killer must have winked out again, because I didn't see him anymore. I put on a burst of speed, trying to outdistance Keyla, who is still wailing and complaining, trying to trip me up.

"What is your malfunction?" I step out of the brush into the clearing around the ship and declare, "See, there's nothing here…."

Oh. Well. My words trail off as I glace around the area. What a mess. The quake must have really hit hard around here. Stuff is everywhere…wait a minute. This doesn't look like quake damage. Everything is disturbed, like an animal came rampaging through and tore up anything not nailed down. Slaggit, I bet a Care Bear moved into the area and messed up the camp. I realize Keyla is no longer behind me, and I drop my backpack in the weeds and swing my plasma gun up.

"Keyla, Killer, where are you?" I try to call softly. If a CB is sleeping or just anywhere nearby, I don't want to wake or alert it. I slowly and carefully move toward the ship's door, my eyes trying to take in everything at once.

Looks like something tried to dig up the graves – gross. They're not neatly mounded anymore, but I don't see any body parts. Maybe whatever was doing the digging got scared away before it could finish. Ah, my cook pots have been tossed all over and my tarp has been ripped off the line. There's a lot of damage, what happened here?

Mumbling under my breath, I hesitate as I see my camp chair set up over by the fire pit. Now, I know for a fact that I left it carefully folded up to the left of the door. Didn't I? I'm not liking what I'm starting to think. This is not good. If I didn't put it there, who did? And there seems to be an awful lot of litter around. Now I'm not fastidious, but I know better than to leave garbage around. It attracts…pests.

I focus on the fire pit, and I can see the remains of what looks like meat in the ashes. The thought of the disturbed graves makes me gag. Please not that. I'm getting nauseous and nervous. Animals don't use fire.

I'm not really sure what I'm looking for as I glance around. An alien like Killer? But, wouldn't he be invisible too? Can they see each other if both of them are invisible? I wish Killer and I could communicate better. I grip my gun tightly, so it doesn't slip out of my nervous, sweaty hands. Just because Killer is friendly doesn't mean another alien will be. I'll feel safer once I'm in the ship.

I back towards the door, constantly scanning the perimeter, and blindly reach back to swat at the door controls. Hurry up, hurry, open the door. I'm paying more attention to the clearing and wood line than what is behind me, and I feel pain in my palm as I make contact with something sharp and hot. My head whirls back to see what hurt me. "Primus fraggit! What…."

My gut clenches, as I see the fried door controls. "Oh, oh…."

At my words, the door slides open and I'm face-to-face with a figure, who is standing _inside_ my ship. I freeze in place. At first, I think it's another alien, but as my brain catches up with my eyeballs, I realize it's a human wearing green/grey body armor, a bucket-like helmet with a T-shaped visor in front holding a…what _is_ that? Whatever it is – it's one pit of a gun. It makes mine look like a peashooter. I think I'm in trouble…I know I'm in trouble. He seems just as surprised to see me, as he backs up a step, then turns his head slightly to yell at someone deeper inside the ship. MY ship! Slag it, doesn't anyone respect personal property anymore?

He recovers quicker than I, and brings his gun to bear on my midsection. I'm so gonna die – oh, I hope Killer takes care of Keyla, where are they anyway I hope nothing happens to them I scream and swing my gun around I am so sloowww….

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

A/N – Bwahaha. A cliffhanger! I hate 'em as a reader, I love 'em as a writer.


	5. Chapter 5

PLANET MUDBALL

A/N – Yeah, it's about time, blah, blah, blah.  
Some lines taken from comics: Predator: Cold War (TPB); Predator: Race War #0. That number [1] in the last paragraph is an endnote for a direct quote.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Predators, but if I did, Wolf would have killed the Predalien, jumped onto the runners of the escaping helicopter, killed all the government guys and lived to hunt another day. He was so cool. *Sigh*

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

[recap of last paragraph, chapter 4]

He recovers quicker than I, and brings his gun to bear on my midsection. I'm so gonna die – oh, I hope Killer takes care of Keyla, where are they anyway I hope nothing happens to them I scream and swing my gun around I am so sloowww….

Chapter 5

"AAAH!!!"

I am still swinging my weapon, but the appearance of three red dots in the shape of a triangle appearing on the intruder's chest causes me to hesitate, a potentially fatal mistake. I shift my weight back and prepare to run. Before I can even comprehend what I am seeing, the guy's chest suddenly explodes, raining yuckies all over me and all over the ship's corridor. Oooh, that's gonna stain - ew, ew, ew, this is worse than Care Bear blood. Why am I repeatedly getting splattered with blood on this planet?

_What_ is going on around here - what just happened to that guy? I crouch down to become a smaller target and try to calm my racing heart. I'm panting like a dog on a hot summers day.

I hear someone yelling, out of sight in back of the ship and loose my balance, falling on my aft. I also drop my gun. "Oh my Primus, oh my, oh, oh, help me, help me," I babble hysterically, trying to get a grip. Do I stay or run. It looks like those dots killed him, or did I miss something else doing the dirty deed. Am I next? I can't seem to think. Oh, why didn't I listen to my parental units and become a medical 'bot supervisor?

I sense something large next to me, and I shriek as I feel a massive hand – an invisible hand – grab my right upper arm and jerk me upright. I totter on my rubbery legs, feeling like a kid whose mom is dragging him down the street. Killer flickers into sight for a moment, looking scary as the pit. He glances down at me, growls, and vanishes. I exhale in relief, I'm not alone….

In that split-second of visibility, I notice he's got a mechanical something sticking out over his shoulder. Where'd that come from? I know he didn't have that thing on earlier. Plasma charges shoot out from inside the ship, hit Killer and disrupt his cloaking field. He flickers in and out of sight, still holding onto my arm. Time to retreat and I scream at Killer, "Go, go, go!" I don't know if he understood me, but he roars - a bloodcurdling sound that echoes down the ship's corridor. The shots and yelling from the ship stop, then resume a few moments later. Ooh, he gives me the shivers when he does that. Hope those guys poop their pants in terror. Slagging trespassers.

Killer grabs me around the waist and all I have time to think is 'Oh, great, here we go again,' before I am hanging onto his belt-thing, my face perilously close to his behind. I don't think we are invisible any more, as I can see him very clearly. Hey, here's another question. If he's invisible while carrying me, would the intruders see me floating in the air or would I disappear, like magic? Hmm…no time to ponder that conundrum, as Killer turns and almost looses his footing. His bad leg buckles and we nearly take a tumble to the ground. I shriek, a pathetic girlie sound, as he catches himself with his free arm, pushes himself up and limps a bit, aiming for the sheltering forest.

Shots are coming from behind us, and I can see men in armor pour out of the ship's door like ants from a disturbed nest. _MY_ nest, slaggit! Their gaze is directed right at us (Guess we aren't invisible anymore. One question answered.), and I can see weapons coming up. Oh, oh. Not good, not good at all. I pound on Killer's back and yell, "Killer, look out! Here they come, they're gonna shoot! Let me down!"

Killer stumbles towards the wood line, squeezing my innards a bit too hard, making me grunt and complain. "Hey, easy on the human, I'm squishy!" He's making rumbling sounds from deep in his chest and I can feel the vibrations where I am pressed against his side. I'm all for a strategic retreat at this point in time. Even the brave must know when to run. Stupid people are not brave, they are simply dead.

The bad guys are still shooting in our direction, and I cover my head in a pathetic attempt to protect myself. I can't even draw enough breath to yell anymore, as I am still getting squeezed uncomfortably.

We're almost at the wood line, home free, when Killer is hit squarely in the chest with a large round from straight ahead, narrowly missing me by the way. So much for the forest hiding us, it's already hiding the enemy. The force of the blow knocks me out of Killer's hold and flings me into the (thankfully unlit) fire pit, wrenching my shoulder.

I struggle to right myself, and see that Killer got catapulted into a tree about fifteen feet away. Oh poor Killer, I hope he's not prone to concussions. But, his noggin seems pretty thick. But, that can't be good for his leg, either. Slag, he's not moving, I bet he's knocked out.

Ow, owie, my shoulder is killing me, my head hurts and my ears are ringing. I struggle semi-erect, and scuttle towards Killer, momentarily forgetting about the intruders responsible for this mess. I kneel at Killer's side, "Killer, hey, wake up. Can you hear me?" Not even a twitch - it looks like he's out for the count. Where's my gun, can I use his gauntlet, what do I do, what do I do…? I lean over him, reach out and gently place my hand on his mask. I can hear him clicking faintly, and catch a movement out of the corner of my eye. A pair of black boots stops right beside me, and I look up just in time to see a fist heading toward my face.

Everything goes black.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Oooh, my head…did anybody get the certificate number of that transport? I've got the mother-in-law of all headaches, and my left arm feels like it had been stabbed with a knife. And my ears are ringing like the ship's bells during a Red Alert.

I crack open my left eye and all I see is dirt and a squished plant. My head spins, and I assure myself this is okay, as I am lying on the ground, cheek in the dirt. All of me is lying in the dirt, actually. I squeeze my eyes tight and moan. I need a miracle med kit. Or booze. Or something. I'm on my stomach and there seems to be something sharp digging into my left thigh. I thought I cleaned out all the rocks from the campsite. Wait a minute, something is awry after all.

Raucous laughter suddenly erupts from somewhere in front of me. My eyes pop open, vision focuses, and I quickly close them again. I've gotta be dreaming. Please let me be dreaming. In my line of sight, I can see Killer hanging from a tree, missing his mask. He is trussed up in so many ropes it looks like he's a monstrous cocoon, the prey of some carnivorous spider in a kinky B-movie.

I also see most of Killer's gear piled close to the tree, and it looks like he's been stripped of his obvious weapons. He's only wearing his loin and gauntlets, and that webbing stuff as well. That's a plus. Maybe they weren't recognized as weapons? But, I don't know how much it helps our cause, as the gauntlets are pretty well useless right now. His arms are secured, crossed in front of him, fists under his chin. If Killer tries to use the blades bound as he is, he'll just send them into his own skull.

I don't see any movement from Killer at all, but I do see a stain of blood trailing from his bad leg and a small patch over the chest area. Nearby, a man is playing with Killer's mask, trying it on and getting laughs from onlookers. Another clearly nervous man is standing guard, fidgeting, weapon trained in Killer's direction. That's a bad accident just waiting to happen.

My circumstance isn't any better. I'm on my belly, ankles strapped and arms tied behind me. There are about ten men, in various poses of relaxation, scattered around the door of the ship. I don't hear anyone behind me, but just because you don't hear the rattle, doesn't mean that there aren't snakes around, if you know what I mean. The clearing has been burned back another 100 yards and I can smell the stench of smoke. Guess they didn't feel very safe with brush so close, too many places to hide. We are so slagged. Hey, where is Keyla?

I guess my moan and wiggling to get comfortable has been noticed. A man gets up, leaves the group around the fire, saunters over and looks down at me, a nasty smirk upon his face. He's average-looking, with a forgettable face and no distinguishing characteristics.

He smiles a big, fake smile and says in a condescending manner, "We are comfortable, yes?"

Ah, there is the uniqueness; he has a gold tooth that immediately captures my eye.

I roll over and struggle to sit upright, which is very hard to do when your legs are tied, and clear my throat twice, trying to get some spit going so I can talk. "No, I am not comfortable. Who are you and who do you think you are - invading my ship, taking over and treating a citizen of The United Federation in this shameful way. Release me immediately and I won't report you to the authorities when I get back to civilization."

He chuckles, shakes his head and says, "Ah, but I am not an _official_ citizen of the Federation. But, forgive me, where are my manners, yes? I am to be called…Louis. I am a…a…privateer, yes, a privateer, who these men look up to. We take care of each other. We are free beings and bow to no regime, no? And," he reaches down to touch my cheek, "You should be nice to me, as I now hold your life in my hands, little girl."

I shake my head, dislodging his hand. I don't want him touching me. Primus on a pogo stick! Damn tracking beacon. Privateers, my aft. They're pirates. Slag. Only my slagging luck could allow me to actually be captured by slagging pirates. Slag. This is a nightmare come to life. Or a bad fiction story.

"So, what do you want? My ship? Fine, it's yours, if you can get it to work. Just let me go and I won't tell anyone anything."

"'Tis not that simple, my dear. Your ship is rubbish. We have invested much in coming here, yes? Your beacon drew us to you like a moth to a flame, like a butterfly to a flower, like a Tiberian Bat to a rotted corpse, like a fat girl to a cupcake." Great, he's a pirate poetaster. "We have an investment to recoup." He smiles, tooth flashing in the light. "P'haps you are wealthy, yes?"

"No I'm not wealthy," I grump.

"Ah, that may be too bad. Well, we shall see what we shall see, yes?"

This guy's habit of ending his sentences with a question is getting on my nerves. I had a thought. "What about Ki - the alien? What do you plan to do with him?"

"Yes, even if you are not of wealth, we shall undeniably reap a profit for this trip. We shall receive much credits for that one, yes? We have heard of their existence, this species, this race, of alien. Very rare, very rare indeed. And to actually find one…. Never have we heard of any taken alive, no? It is worth much, yes?"

"What do you mean?" My ears perk up hearing this. Killer and I are sliding further and further into a hole we might not be able to climb out of.

"Many, many authorities and…private persons, yes, would love to commandeer their weapons. I have a contact, a…research individual who has been looking for an actual specimen, or pieces thereof, yes? This one is still alive, with all his technology intact, a double bonus for us. Not so good for him, no?" And the slime ball actually laughs. Grrr.

"How come you know so much about them?" I ask. "I may have heard rumors, but they didn't come close to actually seeing the real thing." I figure, keep the guy talking, maybe I can find some loophole out of this mess. My dad used to say, the more you know, the better off you are.

He settles himself down on a nearby log, getting comfortable. If he was a gentleman, he would untie me and let me sit there too. Fragger.

"Ah, we are talking politely now, yes? Before I answer, may this one ask how such a pretty girl came to be with such an ugly monster?"

I bristle at the remark as my eyes dart over to rest on Killer's bare face. Still no movement, I hope he's okay. I answer, "He's not ugly, just…different." I guess I've gotten used to his face. It is just another aspect of him.

"Ha!" Louis barks out a laugh. "Different is not the word, no? But please, are you a set, are you together?"

I shift on the ground, stretching my legs out and surreptitiously trying to test the bonds on my hands. Ow, my shoulder. "Um, well, we kinda fell into company. I met him out in the forest. Actually, he found me, I think he was curious. I had just killed one of those big carnivorous animals, ya know. It was chasing me. He can't talk or anything, and I don't even know why he followed me here. I was just glad that he didn't kill me." This isn't the entire truth, but 'Louis' didn't need to know that. And I didn't want to mention that Killer is wounded, it would certainly be in character for them to re-injure Killer's leg, on purpose.

"Do you know where his ship is, yes?" Louis asks with a greedy glint to his eye that I really didn't like. Yeah right, like I'd tell you, you slimy, loathsome, son-of-a-glitch. I look up at him, all innocent, and said, "Oh, you think he's got a ship here, somewhere?"

Louis frowns. I guess I didn't look innocent enough. Slag.

"Yes, they always have a ship, and it is always well hidden."

Let's get off the ship topic, shall we. Keep him talking. "Um, what else do you know about them? Where are they from? How come I've only heard rumors about their existence?"

"It is said they come from the other side of the Milky Way galaxy, yes, and are renowned for their warlike skills. They are considered to be the ultimate predator. Their entire society is supposed to revolve around 'The Hunt' and related hunting activities. And the acquisition of trophies, the skulls of their victims. Gruesome, yes?" Louis waggles his eyebrows at me, trying to scare me, I guess. I had to bite my tongue in order not to giggle inappropriately. If he could have seen Killer and Keyla cuddling up around the fire….

I tilt my head to show interest in what he was saying. Actually it is very enlightening. I wonder why Keyla and I aren't dead and mounted on a wall somewhere, if these aliens are so into trophy hunting. Keep 'em talking. "Well, every society has their little traditions," I acknowledge, and shrug my shoulders. Ow.

Louis seems annoyed at my nonchalant attitude toward the aliens, toward Killer. "They are a bunch of vicious bastards!" He practically yells at me, causing some of the others to glance our way.

"There are stories and myths about them throughout the known galaxy. We don't know for sure why they come, what they want or how they'll react to anything we do, but we do know that they have technology that makes us look like a bunch of Aborigines. Their culture revolves around the concept of hunting and stalking prey, and we are just prey to them. They have hunted humans and eluded attention. Many people have trained specifically for capturing their technology and hunting them down. A dying alien will try to blow up his body and all equipment so we cannot steal their ideas."

Boy, I thought, he's on a roll. Take a pill, will 'ya.

"It is rumored that they can live for a thousand years…."

"Wow," I quip, "this one doesn't look a day over 350."

Slap! He knocks me over, and I ate dirt. I struggle upright once again, really torqued off. Just you wait, I hope Keyla chews your eyeballs out, one at a time.

"Do not push me, no? Come, I am sorry, but it has been a stressful day for us all. So, if we can find its ship, we would all be set for life, yes? You too, yes? Where did you first see it?"

Chew on rocks, you bastard, I thought. "I really don't remember…I think t's off to the north…I'm not too good with directions…."

Louis' expression darkens. Slag, if I want to stay healthy, I had better work on my acting skills.

"Obviously you do not understand what is at stake here!" He hesitates, and looks down at my chest. Oh, oh. That can't be good. I glance down and am dismayed to see the gold necklace Killer gave me had slid out from under my shirt. Louis continues, "Not wealthy, you say? And, what is that, that you are hiding from me? I thought we were becoming friends, no?"

He reaches for the necklace, and I try to squirm away. "No, we're not friends! You better leave me, my necklace, and my friends alone!" Well, obviously it didn't do me any good. Louis easily seizes my necklace and rips it off my neck.

"Very expensive, and it suits you, yes? This is now _my_ trophy. You are lucky I do not need your head on my wall, yes?. You will eventually thank me later, for having saved you from the evil monster. And you should know, I always get what I want. Yes, I do."

He ground out, " 'You have to understand [our] …culture…This isn't about sport, it's about trophy-taking. That's why men hunt – to see who bags the biggest prize. And the biggest prize of all is a killer…When you kill a killer, his kills belong to you. Numbers. That's what makes the world go round, big numbers.' [1] Well, this one, he won't be hunting anymore, he just became the prey."

End chapter 5

1 Vachss A. et al. _Predator: Race War_, #0, p. 3. Dark Horse Comics, Inc., 1993


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